HONGKONG—MACAO

boy from Berlin, in a black shirt, breeches, and dispatch-
rider's boots.

The first two or three minutes were embarrassing. The
old hands viewed us with inquisitively hostile eyes. We
hastened to explain that we were not real journalists, but
mere trippers, who had come to China to write a book. The
hearty, square-shouldered, military-looking man to whom
we had addressed ourselves slapped us both on the back:
'These young fellows', he shouted to the others, 6are des-
perate to go to the front at once/ The great news-men
smiled, weary but indulgent, 'Why, isn't that just fine?'
some one drily observed. 6I don't mind telling you', the
military-looking man continued, CI haven't been to the
front myself. But I've been darn near death several times.'
We flattered Mm with timid grins.

Presently, to our delight, two friends walked in—Capa
and Fernhout (we had got to know them both during the
voyage from Marseilles to Hongkong. Indeed, with their
horse-play, bottom-pinching, exclamations of 6Eh, quoi!
Salop!' and endless jokes about les poules, they had been
the life and soul of the second class.) Capa is Hungarian,
but more French than the French; stocky and swarthy,
with drooping black comedian's eyes. He is only twenty-
three, but already a famous press-photographer. He has
been through most of the civil war in Spain. Fernhout is a
tall, blonde young Dutchman—as wild as Capa, but slight-
ly less noisy. He worked with Ivens and Hemingway as a
camera-maa on the film Spanish Earth, Ivens was with
them now. We hadix't met him before. Ha is a good deal
older than the others, small, dark, with sparkling little
eyes* The three of them have just arrived in Hankow
direct from Hongkong, by air*

They are waiting here for their equipment, which is

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